


The Salt of the Earth is Tears

by darkmagess



Category: Blood Ties (TV)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagess/pseuds/darkmagess
Summary: Vicki discovers something about Henry she didn't know. And after he disappears one night, she teams up with his visiting lover to find out what happened and get him back.





	

It was 1AM. Was there an excuse for coming over at 1AM? A case. . . a question. . . the truth, perhaps. Vicki shifted uneasily and tried to decide just why she was here. Henry had entered like a whirlwind and permanently rearranged her inner landscape. He occupied her thoughts and had so easily become her backup. She meant what she'd said. She did trust him with her life. He never ran, never turned away, never let her down.

And there it was. So simple.

Vicki pulled the tie from her long hair and let it cascade, recalling the times Henry had played with errant tendrils. If he could be trusted with everything else, was a heart too much to ask? She smoothed down her shirt, adjusted her glasses, and rapped on the door to Henry's apartment.

Within, Henry Fitzroy had been halfway from the bedroom to the kitchen when the knocking came. He paused, frowning, and moved silently to answer the door, tying his purple silk robe on tightly, but not bothering with his tousled hair.

He opened the door part way, resting one arm above his head, the hand draped elegantly. "Vicky. . ." he said warmly.

She smiled and waited expectantly, but Henry remained where he was, filling the gap in the doorway, looking a hair nervous.

"You're out a bit late. Do you need my help?" he asked.

"Yeah. Well. Actually, I was just . . . wondering if you might have time t—"

From somewhere in the apartment, the low smooth tones of a man's voice called out, "Henry? Everything ok?"

Fitzroy registered the flash in Vicki's eyes before he called over his shoulder, "Everything's fine." When he looked back, she had already stepped away.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, stunned and turning more red the longer she looked at him. "I. . . I should have called first. I should have called! I'll, umm. . ." She raised her fingers to her lips for a second and then pointed at him. "I'll catch you later." She backpedaled a few steps and added with a bit more dignity, "Have a good night, Henry." She pulled her hair back into its tie as she left. 'What a stupid idea,' she thought. 'Just drop in for a surprise! . . . Surprise.'

Henry watched her leave with both amusement and sorrow. She rarely showed up without calling first. There were . . . implications. He clicked the door closed and turned to the sound of David's heartbeat. A man just celebrating his 47th birthday crossed through the dining area to the liquor cabinet. His dark hair was threaded with grey, now; his body was still strong and fit. He'd been cute when young, but somehow age had been kind, giving a soft fleshiness to his once chiseled cheeks and chin. Above all that, though, when anyone saw David, they saw his eyes — deep perfect pools of warm chocolate.

David fixed himself a whiskey on the rocks. "Who was that?"

Henry grinned a little, an impish tone in his voice. "Vicki Nelson."

"I see. . ." David smiled a bright, knowing smile and sipped his drink to keep from chuckling.

Henry pressed his lips into a fine line and feigned disinterest, fooling no one. "She's a private investigator."

"I bet."

Henry watched David hide his smile in his glass again and then studied him as he poured another shot. He was wearing boxers with bright yellow smilie faces, and Henry had to suppress a laugh at the sight of him. Typical David, though. The muscles in the man's shoulders rippled as he moved. He remembered them when they were thinner, when the skin didn't have so many spots. In his mind's eye, he saw the years melt away into 80s fashion and, worse, 80s hair. His palms could recall the touch of —

"Henry. . ."

It didn't seem so long ago.

"Henry."

The vampire blinked and refocused. David was watching him from the couch.

"Sorry."

"Was it a good trip?" David asked as he watched Henry draw near. He got only a wicked smile in reply as the vampire slid up next to him with familiarity and lay his head on his chest.

"So . . . you have a P.I. snooping around now?" David asked at almost a whisper.

Fitzroy had to smile at the concern. "She's not investigating me, if you're worried." He turned his head and kissed the closest bit of flesh.

"Hmm." David took another sip of whiskey and ran his fingers through Henry's hair, picking knots out of the curls. His face brightened in delight when Henry stretched to press into his hand for a deep scalp rub.

Their silence was easy. Just skin on skin, the creak of leather, and the jingle of ice in a crystal tumbler. At length, Henry pulled away and let his head fall back over the back of the couch.

"I need to eat," he said absently.

David stared for a second, checked his empty glass, and slid it onto the table. A wave of shame welled in his chest, and he found himself studying the floor. His smooth and calming voice was thick and broken when he spoke.

"Henry, I. . ." He drew a breath. "I don't heal like I used to." David shook his head bitterly, and his hand went instinctively to his neck. How do you say 'I'm a useless old man'? How do you beg to not be sent away. "I. . . I don't. . ."

Cool fingers touched his burning cheek. And David peered at Henry, blinking away a few tears he wouldn't let fall. The vampire's young face radiated with the tenderest concern.

"God . . . David." He drew the man close and kissed his forehead lightly. "You don't owe me," he muttered, struck by the devotion. "You're not just . . . food."

They parted just enough to look one another in the eyes. Henry brushed his fingers along the other man's cheek. He leaned in for a long, soft kiss before standing. "I'll go to one of the clubs. Someone's always willing." Henry eyed David up and down. "Wait up for me."

The man smirked and fell back in his seat. Henry disappeared to get dressed, and as he threw on his coat to leave, he nuzzled a kiss into David's greying hair.

David awoke slowly to the creeping purple fingers of dawn, sunlight arcing through the windows onto his face. His eyes drifted open and then flashed! He leapt from the couch and dove for the master control to darken the apartment. Heart pounding, he spun, looking for a clock. Morning. Morning?

"Henry?" he shouted, though expected no answer.

David threw open the door to the bedroom to find it hauntingly, tauntingly empty.

"Oh, God."

His chest heaved as the panic spread. Henry always came home. He always came home. David's fingers trembled as he dialed Henry's cell. It went straight to voicemail, and he slammed the handset down on the side table. Daylight, daylight, daylight. He scratched his head in agitation and chewed his lower lip.

"Well, what else can I do?" he demanded of the empty room. He collected his clothes and swore a hundred curses, thinking a hundred prayers.

***

Detective-Sergeant Mike Celluci strode into the police station, a coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. No, a danish in the other. Details matter. The day had seemed nice enough twenty minutes ago, but now the tenor of his future was becoming clear. He gave the desk sergeant a nod as he passed, and she returned an exasperated, pleading look before turning back to the man towering over her, who was getting louder by the second.

"Look, I don't care about your waiting period. He's missing!"

"Sir, you said it was only since this morning. I can't file a report until—"

"Missing. Do you get that?"

"Yes, I get—"

"Fine, well then how about this. How about you find me a Vicki Nelson. I think she's got something to do with it."

Hearing is a peculiar thing. And while Mike had no interest in a raving madman, when that name came up, there was suddenly no other conversation in the room. He dropped breakfast off at his desk, grabbed a notebook, and hurried up front.

Upon second look, this guy didn't seem like a lunatic. He looked. . . classy. Crisp, expensive peacoat. Clean business shoes. The white t-shirt and jeans were the clothes of someone in a hurry, but he was well-groomed. Hell, even distinguished. And damn near terrified.

"I'm sorry, sir? Hi, Detective Mike Celluci." He offered his hand, and the stranger gave him a firm handshake followed by a sigh of relief. "Did you say Vicki Nelson?" Mike continued.

"Yes, yes. Look, my friend—"

"Whose name is. . ."

"Henry Fitzroy."

Mike's jaw clenched. "Go on."

"He got a visit from this Vicki woman last night. Late. Maybe one o'clock, one thirty. Not twenty minutes later, he left, said he was going to some clubs, and never came back."

Mike got that sick, sinking feeling he always did when those two went ghostbusting. If Henry didn't return, well, Vicki was no match for anything that could kill a vampire. Mike felt a banner of panic unfurling. "Can you. . . I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"David Kuhl."

"David, can you just follow me to my desk and have a seat?"

He nodded, followed, and perched anxiously on the chair Mike indicated.

"Just give me a minute, I'll be right back," Mike said as he flipped open his cell and stepped toward one of the conference rooms. The detective grimaced and tapped his foot as Vicki's phone rang four, five times.

"Hello?" came a groggy voice.

"Vicki! Are you okay, is everything all right?"

"Mike?"

He could hear her groan and fumble for her glasses.

"Are. . . you. . . all right?" he demanded.

Her voice was suddenly sharp. "I'm fine, what's going on?"

Mike breathed a sigh and turned a bit to eye David. The man studied his hands.

"I've got a guy down here who says that Fitzroy is missing and that you came by his place late last night."

"Well, yeah, I—what do you mean missing?" There was a whiff of air that sounded like a blanket going flying.

"That's what he said. And he said he thought you might be involved."

"I am now."

Mike practically sneered.

"Look, you keep him there, don't let him move, I'll be right over."

The phone went dead before Mike could reply. Typical. He returned to his desk and met David's expectant gaze.

"All right, well, I called Vicki and she's fine. Said she didn't know a thing about Henry being gone."

"And you trust her?" David asked, deadly serious, rubbing the heel of his thumb.

"Implicitly."

The other man looked away and sank into his chair, his anxious energy suddenly replaced by a dark weight.

Mike's expression softened. "Look, Vicki will be here faster than is legal, and she's going to help you find him."

David looked him in the eye, and they took a moment to read one another. "You sound sure," he said in low tones.

"I am sure." Mike had never been one for pep talks, but he was pleased to see David nod slowly and push himself up a little.

***

Henry's body hung as a dead weight, his arms draped over the necks of twin willowy blonds with amethyst eyes. They moved him about quickly. Truth be told, one could have hefted him on her own, but going up and down the stairs would have been troublesome. They took him down through their home into a lower chamber hollowed from dirt and stone. A large wooden table filled half the space, and lonely incandescent bulbs hung from their wires for light. There was an altar built into the wall, with a limestone slab set into the stone floor before it. The twins lay Henry on the stone shelf of the altar in front of a large wooden brace that resembled an arrow; the arms angled down toward the floor.

"Hilma," one sister said as she moved off. "Leave him alone, we have work to do."

***

Illegal speeds indeed. Vicki jogged into the police headquarters and straight to Celluci's desk, a backpack full of gear bouncing off her body. Mike and the stranger rose.

"Vicki, meet David Kuhl."

She avoided his face and shook his hand briskly. "Hi."

"So. . ." Mike sat down again and spun his computer monitor. "I took the liberty of activating the GPS on Fitzroy's phone. Don't know how much help that will be, but here's the address." He handed Vicki a slip of paper.

"Good. I'll, uhh, I'll let you know what we find." Without looking at either man, she turned on her heel and headed out.

David gave Mike a questioning look, but the detective merely motioned after the woman's rapidly moving form. He hurried to catch up. Once they were outside, Vicki gave this David a cursory look. He was not quite what she had expected. More . . . well . . . more. And he gazed at her like a puppy—wounded—though by the set of his shoulders and face, not entirely helpless. There were plenty of things she wanted to ask, most of them inappropriate and quite a few of them bitchy. She settled on, "Do you have a car?"

David laughed a little in surprise, an inviting sound, and dug a key from his pocket. "A rental."

Vicki navigated them through the streets of Toronto and its hellish traffic. It figured that the phone's signal would be on the other end of town. David drove intently, quietly. The silence in the car was deafening. He kept glancing at her while she just watched the car ahead of them and decided that, hell, fighting would be better than this.

"You don't trust me, do you," he said.

"What? No, I trust you. I mean, on a basic level."

"So . . . then you just don't like me."

"I don't know you well enough to not like you," she said quickly.

"My point exactly, and yet you haven't looked at me once," he said, catching her eye as the traffic came to a stop.

Vicki felt herself blush. She didn't know it had been that obvious. "I, uhh . . ."

"Wasn't expecting someone to be at Henry's last night," David said softly.

When the flow of cars started again, she took the chance to look at him for real. His expression was grim, and he seemed as uncomfortable as she had been a few moments before. She forced a smirk. "Wouldn't you know. The one time I don't call ahead."

The man nodded, and she caught the subtle shift in the lines of his mouth—a knowing grin.

"So, Mike said that Henry went to some clubs?"

David ducked his head a little. "Yeah, he, umm. . ." He glanced at Vicki, unsure of what she knew, what the detective knew. "That is . . ."

"I know he's a vampire."

David's shoulders relaxed instantly and he smiled, an expression Vicki happened to catch and happened to find stunning.

"Yeah, that kind of club. He was hungry, and I . . ." He scratched a spot just above his ear. "I couldn't help him," he finished softly.

"Do you know any of these places?"

"A few, yeah."

Vicki thought for a moment.

"So, you knew he left to go . . . eat."

David nodded wordlessly.

"But you still told the police you thought I had something to do with it?" Her eyes darted between the road ahead and David's face. She watched him hang his head and felt suddenly sorry. Old habits. This guy hadn't done anything.

"I'm sorry about that," he said. "It was just . . . you were a stranger. I didn't know you from Adam."

"Eve."

David smirked and went on. "Henry was gone. The part of me that went crazy just couldn't let those two things go. Even if it didn't make any sense."

Vicki pointed him toward an exit off the Gardiner Expressway.

"You're really afraid for him," she said gently.

David glanced at her and nodded. "Plus," he said, "I thought if I namedropped, someone might take me seriously."

"Well, it worked."

"Only so far." David kept his eyes on the road, trying not to imagine all the horrible things that might have happened. The demons, the killers, the righteous.

The cell phone turned out to be a dead end, at least as far as finding Henry, or his body. Vicki bagged it and put it in her pocket for safekeeping. She put a call in to Mike as they got back in the car.

"Hey. It was no good. Someone just tossed it on the sidewalk. By the scratches on the case, I'd say it was thrown from a moving car."

Mike squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So David wasn't mistaken."

"No, I don't think he was."

"Vicki, this could be extremely dangerous."

"I know."

"I might not be able to help you."

"I didn't ask."

Mike sighed. "Just . . . stay in touch."

Vicki closed the phone and turned to her companion. "You said you knew where these clubs were?"

"A couple. But I don't know where the hell we are right now, so I couldn't get us there."

'Of course not. That would be easy. That would be normal and helpful and. Damn!' Vicki thought.

Her cell phone suffered a fine throttling as she tried to control a sudden burst of anger. What had been speculation was now real. Henry needed her, and she was stuck in this damn car with. . . With a jolt, she turned in her seat, ready to . . . to . . .

He was watching her with those deep, brown, intense eyes. He frowned slightly, probably thinking she was insane.

With a sigh, Vicki sat back. "I'm sorry. I think . . . I think it just really hit me that something's terribly wrong."

He nodded, looking unsettled.

"So if I show you back to Henry's, you can take me to the clubs?"

"Yes, but, I don't think they'll be open at the moment." David looked around at the bright, sunlit street. "Wrong kind of clientèle," he said with a smirk.

"Right." She pressed her lips together. "Then we'll take the phone to Mike and get some lunch. Nothing else we can do."

"Right."

It was a long, tense car ride back to the station.

***

With the phone dropped off to be fingerprinted, Vicki led David on a long walk down Yonge Street, ending at Richtree Market.

"You ever been here?" she asked with smile. Something about this place, maybe the atmosphere or the chance to have one of everything, was deeply satisfying.

David peered up at the clear glass roof that covered what looked like a street. At one end was an "outdoor" patio, littered with tables and chairs. A sign pointed the way to the Hockey Hall of Fame.

"Can't say I have." He grinned, "There's a lot in this city I've missed out on."

The line to get in was long, and David felt a bit restless just standing and waiting. He felt like he should chat, but wasn't quite sure what about. So, he watched the crowd instead and hoped this place would be worth it.

Vicki led him inside with a simmering joy. They wove through the crowd and market stalls of the restaurant, gathering European breads and brick oven pizzas. Strings of lights hung low overhead with a festive elegance, and the real greenery made the place seem like a distant paradise. Vicki picked a corner near one of the lion's head fountains and slid into a chair. Her tray nearly tumbled over with food.

David dropped his coat over the back of the chair before sitting. The white t-shirt he wore did wonders, and Vicki had to check herself to be sure she wasn't staring. She found it a bit unfair, really. Why couldn't he have been ugly. Or mean.

"So, um . . ." Vicki began between bites, her voice strong so she could be heard over the din. "You known Henry long?"

"Twenty-three years." He nodded some and leaned in a little closer. He wasn't sure if she'd want to hear what he had to say, but something inside just wanted to tell someone. Just once. He glanced cautiously around, as though someone might hear, and spoke as loud as he dared. "He's . . . the only man I've ever loved. Hell, the only one I ever looked at, you know? I was night manager in a bookstore at the time. Henry was there doing a signing, and . . . I just . . . couldn't stop looking or finding reasons to ask if he needed anything. He must have noticed or taken pity, because he asked me out for a drink as I was locking up." David's eyes crinkled as he smiled, remembering. And Vicki couldn't help but smile in kind.

"Did you know about the . . ." She traced a finger down her neck and then scooped up a spoonful of tiramisu.

David smirked. "Not on the first date. Not until the third, actually, when I guess he figured he'd either tell me or let me go."

"What'd you do?"

"Freaked out," he laughed. "And . . . said yes."

"Why?"

Her question carried weight with it, purpose. David studied her face for a moment and then contemplated his food. "I don't know," he said, looking up. "God's honest truth, I don't."

Vicki understood, perhaps like few others could. A smile crept across her face, and she eyed David coyly. "So . . .?"

"So . . ." His eyes narrowed and then he smiled. "So, I was with Henry for ten years after that."

"What happened?"

"I got old." He took a swig of water. "He didn't." David set his glass down and spun it. "I wanted . . . a life. Something normal. So I moved to New York, got a great job, met a great woman. Married her." He smiled like a thief. "And now we have a daughter."

Vicki set down her fork and sat back in her chair, serious and somber. "And you just come for visits."

"A couple of times a year."

"Does she know?"

"Christine? Yeah, she knows. She knows his name's Henry. She knows he's from another life."

"And she's okay with you just running off?"

David gave her an amused look and leaned in conspiratorially. "I think that people are a lot broader than we give them credit for. With a little — a lot — of honesty, they can accept a lot."

"Does she know he's a . . ."

"I didn't think that conversation would go well."

They both smiled, and Vicki thought briefly of Mike.

David continued. "She just knows I come home."

***

Vicki and David began their search as the sun was going down. They took a streetcar to Queen Street and headed down Queen Street West. The first place they stopped was "A dive," David had said. Bad music, worse drinks, and mostly high school students with fake IDs. Rose's was further down and far more hidden. Vicki's phone rang as she followed David down some alley she was sure she'd never remember.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Vic. I ran your phone for prints. There were a few partials, but nothing useful."

"You sound genuinely sorry."

"Yeah, my bad. You know, I don't know why I'm helping you with this. Missing vampire? I can think of bigger tragedies. A cat in a tree, maybe."

"That's firemen."

"Parking tickets," he countered.

"Someone kidnapped my friend, Mike. And you're on the team that saves people." Vicki stumbled once on an uneven bit of road and stopped to check her boot.

Mike sighed. "You get anything else yet?"

"No, I, we—"

David grasped her by the elbow and pulled her into a space between two restaurants where no streetlights reached.

"Vicki!" Mike called, alarmed.

"I'll call you back."

The door to Rose's was as nondescript as could be — black painted metal, simple silver knob. Except that at this hour, glow in the dark paint on the door revealed their logo scrawled in pseudo-Victorian font and a large gleaming rose dripping blood.

"Charming."

"It's better than the last one."

Rose's was dark inside, but clean. They decorated with fabrics and actually had a menu at the bar. The music, though loud, wasn't deafening, and the patrons seemed at least legal.

"Still goth . . ." Vicki grimaced.

"Easy prey!" David called into her ear over the music.

They approached the bar and waved down the bartender.

"What can I get you?" The man eyed their clothes but didn't comment.

"Actually, I'm looking for a friend of mine." David leaned onto the bar and smiled his sincere smile. "I think you might know him. Henry Fitzroy."

The bartender looked at him for a moment and then picked up a glass to clean it.

"Ain't seen him."

"Was he here last night?"

"I don't know," the man said a bit too forcefully.

David reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of American bills. He dropped a hundred on the bar.

"Could you find out?"

The man's eyes flickered to the money and back to the glass in his hands.

David dropped another bill, and the bartender's lips moved. He set a third hundred down. The glass was set aside, and the bills vanished.

"He was here last night."

The pair felt their hearts jump.

"Did you see him leave?" David asked calmly.

"No, but, you know he's a big hit around here. Some of the regulars might have noticed."

Vicki wasn't going to let the newb do all the work! "Who might we ask?"

The man leaned out over the bartop and pointed to a girl in a black and pink dress dancing by herself.

"Thanks," she gave the man a quick smile and started over.

"Thank you," David nodded to the bartender with a friendly grin and followed.

"Excuse me, miss?" Vicki tapped the girl on the shoulder. She had long black hair and a piercing in almost every place visible. Her eyes were done up dark, and her lips were painted black. But she smiled at the strangers.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, my name's Vicki. This is David." He waved. "We were told that you might have seen Henry Fitzroy last night."

The girl's face twisted into a scowl and she grabbed Vicki's arm, hauling her to a nook that dampened the music. "Yeah, I saw him. Left with those new girls, too! Do you know how long I've been coming here, and he takes the new girls!"

"Do you know what these new girls looked like?"

"Hell yeah. You can't miss 'em. Twin blond chicks with weird tattoos."

Vicki felt a thrill up her spine. "Weird how?"

"Weird like they had them on their cheeks. The one . . . the one girl who danced, I think her name's Ellie or Elsa, she had a spiral." The girl made a circular motion on her left cheek.

Vicki dug a piece of paper out of her jacket pocket and handed it to the girl along with a pen. "Can you draw it?"

The girl shrugged and drew. "Are you guys like cops or something?"

"Or something," Vicki smiled. "What about the girl's sister?"

"Total freak. I never saw her do anything. Ever. I mean, she sat in a booth and watched. And drank. She drank Jorge under the table last week. Dude almost died!"

"Did she have a tattoo as well?"

The girl's eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah but . . . she was always in the corner. I think, maybe . . ." She drew a diamond inscribed in a circle. "Maybe that."

Vicki carefully folded the paper and slipped it back in her jacket. "Thank you, you've been an amazing help."

The girl stared at her and looked concerned. "Yeah, sure. Is . . . I mean, I know it's none of my business, but is Henry in some kind of trouble?"

"I think so. But you may have just helped him out of it." Vicki's face glowed as she whipped out her phone and headed for the door.

David watched her go and then turned back to the girl. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Vera," she smiled, briefly, and then resumed looking worried.

"Vera, thanks for your help. I won't forget it." He extended his hand, and she took it lightly, not quite sure what some stranger could ever do for her.

David caught up with Vicki in the alleyway. She was meandering in a direction not toward home.

". . . I know it's a lot to ask, but this is all we have! No, I'm not trying to get you fired. Yes, we will go see a movie on your next day off, I swear it, if you just do this for me. You only need to check with the cabbies who were working in Parkdale last night. Okay. Thanks." She snapped her phone closed and found a streetlight to stand under.

"What's going on?" David looked down over her shoulder at the drawings Vera had made.

Vicki answered absently, "Mike's giving the description out to cabbies." She turned the drawing this way and that and began walking. David snagged her arm again and directed them both back toward Queen and the streetcar to head home. "But we . . . have somewhere else to go."

"Okay."

She stopped and turned to look directly at him. "Do you know of a Sinead?" Clearly, the answer was yes, as she watched his expression grow grim.

"She's dangerous," he muttered.

"I know."

David pierced her with a glare. "I don't think you do."

"Well I don't have any other ideas!" Her voice echoed off the dark buildings towering overhead. Eventually, her will won out, and she saw David's head bob up and down in the sparse light. "Okay. Well, let's grab the car then." She waited for her companion to lead the way. "And when we get there, you stay outside. If you hear me screaming. . ."

"Come save you?"

"Fuck no. Call the cops and run."

They chuckled, though more from nervousness than humor.

***

Hilma peered down at Henry, leaning in close to his face. She watched him start to stir. One eyelid fluttered. She noted the blue color of his eyes with fascination and reached up a delicate hand to feel his cheek. For a moment, Henry was conscious of only a looming figure and cornsilk. His first instinct was to find the time. But as he fashioned the thought, he knew the answer. With a last, slow heartbeat, he slipped away.

"He sleeps now," Hilma said in her airy voice. She touched his lips and smiled.

Elsa cast her sister a withering glare. "Better for us. Now set the IV." She opened an old book on the table and squinted at it, reading from parchment pages under the glare of a dangling bulb.

Hilma lingered and then hung the bag from a nail they'd placed in the stone. She stripped off Henry's jacket carefully, like he was one of her porcelain dolls. His arm felt soft as she rolled his sleeve, and the hairs tickled her fingers. Hilma giggled and pet Henry's arm a second time. Henry played doctor as well as all of her dolls. She thought for a moment and then lowered her ear to his chest. Yes. Just as well. She stole a glance at Elsa, who was busy writing, and then let her fingers find the buttons of Henry's shirt. She had folded and set aside the bit of pretty cloth nicely before her twin had even noticed.

"Hilma!" Elsa screeched an indignant sound. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She rushed around the table.

Hilma lifted her chin defiantly and met her sister's eyes. "I wanted to see."

"But, why?" was all Elsa could think to say. This was their prey!

Hilma turned and looked at the vampire's prone, unmoving body. "Because he kissed me," she whispered, a hand absently tracing her mouth.

Elsa sighed and gripped Hilma's shoulders, drawing her close. "You know what we're doing, right?"

"Yes."

"And you want to see Nixie again, right?"

Hilma's eyes grew wide. "More than anything!"

Elsa regarded her seriously. "Things were good then, weren't they?"

Hilma nodded, and for a moment Elsa let herself remember what it had been like with the three of them together. Everything blossomed. They were happy and strong, traveling where they wished, blessing those who sought their aid.

"We were whole," Elsa said wistfully. Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. There was no time for crying, no time for weakness.

Hilma pet her sister's cheek, unsure of how to make things better. She said what she would have wanted to hear. "Nixie will come back, Elsa. We'll have flowers and trees, and the Earth will sing."

Elsa chuckled at the image. "It'll be just like that. But you need to do what I tell you to, okay? Just put the IV in his arm and then help me double check everything on my list. It has to be perfect. Understand?" Elsa stroked her twin's hair.

"Yes." Hilma looked at Henry with grim determination and inserted the needle just as she'd been shown, all the while dreaming that Nixie had returned and everything was like it had been.

***

David parked the car across the street from Sinead's shop, and they both got out. He moved to lean against the side closest to the door, crossing his arms and legs. His directions were clear: stay outside and watch for trouble.

Vicki took a slow, calming breath and strode across the street. She redid her ponytail and pulled it tight. She brushed off her jacket and pushed her glasses on firmly, as well. The shop was mostly dark as she entered, her footsteps sounding thunderous on the wood floor. Thankfully, she remembered the way from last time and pushed aside a curtain of colorful beads. Nothing moved, and not a whisper disturbed the air until Sinead brushed roughly by her left elbow. The woman moved like a swan and sat gracefully down. Vicki flexed her jaw but showed no fear.

"Ms. Nelson," the witch said icily.

"I need your expert opinion."

Sinead's eyes narrowed. "And if I won't give it?"

"I think you will."

The witch arched an eyebrow and invited the woman to sit. "What makes you think that? What makes you think you could trust my replies." She smiled seductively, brushing her hand over her neck and chest.

Vicki's expression was stoic and tinged with anger when she answered. "Because I'm betting Henry's life on it."

The witch's eyes widened. "What?" Her voice lost some of its calculation and control, giving way to honest concern.

Vicki appreciated seeing her off kilter. "What do these mean to you?" She thrust out Vera's drawings, and Sinead snapped the paper away.

She checked Vicki's eyes, trying to gauge if she was being played. "The spiral is a key," she said simply, opting for curt but honest. If Fitzroy really was in danger, she didn't want to feel too guilty if he died.

"A key to what?" Vicki jumped a little as her phone buzzed on vibrate, but she let it go.

"Impossible to say."

"What if I tell you that it's tattooed on a girl's left cheek."

The witch frowned slightly. "Then I'd say she intends to open a very important door."

'Cryptic and unhelpful,' Vicki thought.

"And the other?"

"Incomplete. It could be any number of symbols." She moved to hand the paper back.

Vicki leaned in and spoke softly. "He's missing, Sinead. Since dawn. What could it mean if it were more complete?"

Chastised, the witch set the paper down on the table instead. Henry was rarely missing. It was unwelcome news. Sinead pressed her palms together and then opened them, like a book. There was a riffle of pages, and between blinks a small book appeared in her hands. She traced a finger down the parchment as she scanned.

"A charm for a good harvest of beans. A . . . ward against locusts." She flipped the page. "A glyph of transmutation."

"What's that one?"

"Like alchemy. Turn one thing into something else. Also, a ward of intoxication."

"That's it!"

Sinead frowned and looked up. "Suddenly good at this, are you?"

"Is that all it does? You can't get drunk?"

As Sinead closed her hands under the book, it disappeared. She bore into Vicki's eyes and started leaning forward, rising. "You can't get anything. You can't get drunk. You can't get high. You can't take aspirin for a headache. A tattoo like that is for fools." She placed her hands on top of the magic box, having stretched herself over the small table, giving Vicki a good look at her perfect breasts and pale skin. She arched an eyebrow. "Anything else you'd like to know?" Her breath smelled sweet, like vanilla.

Vicki pulled back and stood up, taking a folded fifty from her pocket. She reached out and placed the bill pointedly in Sinead's cleavage. "Thanks for the help."

The witch sneered. "I don't want your money," she hissed.

Vicki leaned in, face to face. "And I don't want your debt." She turned on her heel and marched out, keeping her back straight and her shoulders square, despite feeling the burn of the sorceress's glare.

Once outside, Vicki hurried across the street. David uncoiled and planted himself in the driver's seat. When Vicki got in, she was practically bursting.

"He was drugged!"

"What?"

She handed him the drawing. "This one? Anti-intoxication. She could take or drop anything and not even feel it. Rohipnol, alcohol, LSD, cocaine, it doesn't matter."

David covered his mouth with his hand and then turned to look at her, resting his cheek in his palm. "And it would all still be in her blood."

Vicki jabbed the paper with her finger. "This sister was a human roofie."

She watched David turn it over in his mind as she pulled out her phone and called Mike back.

He answered without ceremony. "Either Fitzroy is extremely lucky or there's someone watching out for him."

Vicki felt a surge of hope, and she gripped David's arm.

Mike continued. "A cabbie recognized the description almost immediately. His biggest fare of the night. 72 Cold Soil Drive. 50 kilometers west of the city."

"I love you."

"This phone call is being recorded."

Vicki motioned for David to start the car. "Here, get directions." She handed him the phone.

"Hello, detective," he said as he plucked a pen from his coat pocket. "Take the 401 West," he repeated aloud, scribbling the rest down.

"Tell him—" Vicki started.

The man snapped the phone closed. "He says he'll meet us there. And 'please, please, please wait before going in.'"

She smirked, took the directions, and started navigating them out of town. David gripped the steering wheel and started edging the car more over the speed limit as they hit the highways.

***

Elsa held him up while Hilma strapped him down. He was bound, kneeling, to the brace. A neck strap kept him from falling. Below each hand, hollows were hewn into the rock, with small channels that led over the edge. The twins had spent all day measuring and remeasuring, arranging the room just perfectly. Now that Henry was up and out of the way, Elsa could test the final crucial part.

She knelt on the limestone slab and poured water into one of the dishes in the rock. The water flowed down the channel and over the edge, dripping down onto a glyph of transmutation carved into the white limestone. She watched the speed of the flow, how quickly the water filled the carefully shaped symbol. Too quickly and the liquid would overflow. She checked the depth of the channels to be sure that the whole symbol would be complete. The left dish flowed too slowly.

"Give me your hand." Elsa reached out, and Hilma took her hand, suddenly completely serious and focused.

Elsa touched the stone with her right hand and the shape of it gave way. The rock retreated when she pressed, like soft cheese. It grew to meet her hand, if she so willed it. She smoothed the dish in the rock with care, molding the channel a little steeper. When it looked perfect, she let her sister's hand go. Though nothing appeared to have changed, the stone was solid to the touch. Elsa tested it with her finger to be sure the surface was smooth and then poured a bit of water in the hollow as a second trial. The flow would do.

"I think we're done," Elsa said with growing excitement. Her purple eyes glittered. "Go get your robes."

When Henry awoke with the dusk, he discovered a new variation of pain. His head felt filled with hot cotton. Something cut into his neck. Thoughts came muffled, and for awhile he could gather only impressions. Somehow, he was floating, it seemed. His captors paraded around in front of him, like the tasty appetizers they soon would be. Hate stalked about his mind as he watched them move. He discovered he was bound and could just barely see a tube running to his arm. With frightening clarity, he realized that seeing was all he could do. He felt nothing below the neck. The hand he saw in his periphery must have been his own, but he felt no connection to it at all, and not a finger flexed when he tried. All the willing in the world brought him no closer to being able to struggle, much less break free. Henry could stare only forward, across the table at the woman whose tattoo marked her as Elsa. He had met her the night before. She and her twin had begged him to drink. He could recall the smell of her hair and the way she had pressed up close with an irresistible offer. And the shy sister. Could he help her, please? Give her a thrill? She was too afraid to ask. His lips tightened in idle, foggy fury.

He tried to sound resolute, without wincing from the effort to speak. "You've made a mistake."

"No use in pleading," Elsa said without looking up.

Henry's lip curled slightly in a sneer. "Th' wasn't a plea," he said darkly. He imagined sinking his teeth into her pale flesh with pleasure.

The woman stopped but didn't look him in the eye. She looked down at her book and slowly smiled, waiting. She was unarmed and unprotected. And yet there was no burst of speed, no shattering of wood. Her heartbeat remained calm and steady.

She had nothing to fear from him, and now they were both certain of it. Henry closed his eyes against the fireworks of color in his vision, and anger melted into fear. "What d' you want?"

Elsa gave him a cursory look. "You, vampire, are going to return my sister to me."

"I don' have your sister!" he slurred some and tried to focus. Maybe they really had made a mistake.

"You will bring us Nixie," the other sister said, she who had been his bait. "Our triplet. Nixie makes the land grow. Nixie makes us stronger."

"Bu' I don' have her!" he raised his voice in breathy desperation. They had the wrong man, if they could see that. . .

"No one does," Elsa said calmly. "She died. But we're going to fix it."

Henry laughed with pity as his brief hope fled. "You . . . you can't bri' back th' dead." His tongue felt thick and clumsy.

She regarded him with indifference. "So you say."

"I've seen it tried!" He managed to yell through the drug haze.

"Well, not by us!" she hissed in a flash of anger. "We have everything we need. Everything that makes a human body. All the carbon, all the salt, all the water. Everything. And now the final piece. Our blood, in you, undead and immortal. It's perfect."

"It's . . . an 'bomination," he whispered, starting to drift.

Elsa made no reply. She had her page set, her candles lit, and her white robes washed in lavender and rose. She inclined her head toward her twin. "Hilma?"

The other girl nodded and came out from around the table. Henry watched her lift a blade.

"Wha' are you. . .? Stop. . ." He watched her groggily and tried to move, to struggle. "What. . ."

Hilma slit open his left wrist. His hand flexed, but he couldn't feel it. He only saw the bloody blade as she pulled it away.

"Please, no," he whispered to her. "Please, God, don't."

Hilma met his wide eyes with regret. She nuzzled up against his ear to whisper. He could feel her heat.

"You kiss like an angel," she said lightly.

Hilma drew back and then ran her thin fingers down his cheek.

"Please," he mouthed.

She smiled sadly and sliced his other arm. Henry let out a panicked cry. His blood ran down his fingers onto the rock and then flowed down the channels. The glyph in the limestone began to fill with his undead life.

Elsa began to chant, and Henry found himself getting weaker. Though he felt no pain, felt nothing but cold numbness, his eyes wanted to close. Just rest. Between ever lengthening blinks, he saw the tattoo on Elsa's cheek begin to glow and the air in the crypt gather itself together.

***

Mike's directions took them out of the city and into the countryside. There were no streetlights and only a few houses. Vicki began talking about the cases she and Henry had solved together: the telekinetic child, the killer ghost. David seemed to get a kick out of the incubus who made a love nest among lonely housewives. Eventually, though, anxiety ruled. Vicki read out directions when needed, and David kept his eyes on the road. They tried imagining what they would do when they arrived. And what about the twins? Vicki had to assume they were dangerous. They used magic, after all. She rubbed the tattoos on her wrists and hoped that they might provide some kind of protection. A tunnel of darkness enclosed the car and neither occupant spoke as they watched the passing mailboxes for numbers. The land was dead flat, and as David swung the car down the driveway of house 72, the headlights reflected off darkened windows and a grey exterior. A silo loomed over the back of the house, the only other feature on the desolate plot of land.

"Can you say . . . Children of the Corn?" David muttered as he cut the engine.

Vicki eyed him. "That's not funny."

He agreed.

Something was off about the farmhouse. Vicki couldn't see the details very well, but it gave off an air of ungainliness. David found himself transfixed. The windows sucked in any light that came near them. They looked like mouths. Then like eyes.

As he sat, staring, David felt the urge to talk rise within him. But it wasn't words, just sounds, meaningless sounds. He clamped a hand over his face and tore his eyes from the house to the car's dashboard. As the urge receded, he lifted his fingers away, one by one.

"I just had . . . the strangest urge to—"

"Babble," Vicki finished for him.

They exchanged worried looks.

"At least we know we have the right place," Vicki quipped.

David cut the lights. The two got out and closed the car doors quietly. Not even the wind stirred. The sound of their feet crunching on gravel must have gone on for miles. David watched the house uneasily as Vicki rummaged through her bag in the trunk. He thought of Henry being hurt, beaten and bleeding for whatever cause. He recalled the one time he'd seen true fear reflected on that perfect face. Righteous fury flared in David's face, and his hands slowly balled into fists.

He turned abruptly. "Gimme a gun."

Vicki looked up and peered over the open trunk. "Excuse me?"

David tore off his coat and tossed it in the car. He strode up next to her and stood a little too close. Tense energy gathered around him and there was a rage in his eyes, if she could have seen them. "Gimme a gun."

"I don't have a gun."

"Then give me something! I'm not going in without something, and I'm not staying in the car," he growled.

"But, I don't—"

"I was an eagle scout and ROTC, I know wha—"

"All I have is this!" She held her ASP baton up and flicked it open.

He backed off some. "Don't cops carry spares?"

She shot him a dark look. "I'm not a cop."

There was the sound of a car approaching, and Vicki turned to inspect the headlights. David took the opportunity to rummage through her bag. He grabbed some flashlights and some zip ties, but not, he was disappointed to discover, a gun.

"You always go through a woman's bag?"

He didn't reply, just handed her a flashlight.

"The ties are for—"

"I know what they're for," he groused. "I watch TV." He started tearing up panels from the trunk, tossing them aside with excessive force.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Looking for a tire iron." He shot her a look. "I told you I'm not staying in the car."

"Just stop."

He pulled out the car jack.

"David, just stop." She set a hand on his back. "I got it covered."

Mike swung his car into the driveway beside them as David closed the trunk. Vicki met him as he got out.

"Hey."

"Hey," he eyed her suspiciously.

"You still keep a baton in your back seat?"

Mike frowned.

"I assume that means yes."

"And why do you need it?"

Vicki glanced vaguely over her shoulder.

The detective looked from Vicki to David and back.

"You're kidding right?"

"No." She held her hand out expectantly.

"He's a civilian!" Mike bit, trying not to be heard.

"So am I. And it's a stick!" She bit back. "You want him to wait here? If it were me, would you wait in the car?"

"Irrelevant. I'm a cop."

They exchanged glares, and Vicki stepped a few inches closer. "I'll give him mine and go in unarmed."

Mike let out an exasperated sigh.

"All right! God dammit." He fished the nightstick out of the back and tossed it over. "When I get fired, you'll regret it." He said flatly, avoiding her face.

Vicki turned his head with a hand on his cheek. She angled him down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Mike closed his eyes and simply shook his head. He was an easy man to buy.

"We're wasting time," Vicki said as she moved away.

Mike and David fell in behind her, exchanging sidelong glances.

"Please don't . . . kill anyone with that," Mike muttered.

The house only grew more hideous as they got closer. Nothing around it grew, not even grass, making it look like a mar on the face of the Earth. They stopped a few yards from the front door. Detective Celluci tapped Vicki's arm and pointed to the side of the house. Gun drawn, he slipped around the corner, while Vicki and David advanced on the front door. Suddenly the details were much clearer. The steps were made from stone. So were the railings, the windows, and the porch. Vicki took a step closer to one of the windows so she could see. The shutters weren't even shutters. They were grooves cut into the stone siding.

"What the hell . . ."

David swept his flashlight up toward porch overhang. "Vicki."

They both looked up. The overhang was solid, fashioned to look genuine from the outside, but nothing beyond that. It was probably a trick of the shadows, but Vicki was sure she saw a hand print in the siding near the door. She swallowed and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. Whether that was a good sign or not, she was undecided.

Vicki stepped deliberately inside, shining her flashlight into each room as she checked for occupants. She shielded herself behind walls — solid marble walls — as she made her methodical sweep. The floors were lined with a polished granite that sparkled and rang loudly under Vicki's heels. The house was full of new items — a modern TV, furniture in the current fashion. But it looked dead in the darkness and completely sterile. There was no dust or cobwebs. The living room looked as perfect as showroom, with not even a pillow tossed in careless haste. It could have been a doll house.

Vicki saw the glare from Mike's flashlight in the dining room. He met them at the bottom of the stairs.

"A stone house? Are you kidding me?" he said in a harsh whisper.

"Should this even be standing?" David glanced around and tried to pull away from the unnaturalness, finding nowhere safe to go.

Mike looked at Vicki sharply. "So, what. Dwarves? Or maybe the Gnome King?"

"I don't know."

David shined his flashlight on the staircase and then swung it to illuminate what looked like a cellar door. "Up or down?"

"Down," came the simultaneous reply.

The cellar door swung open easily, and for the first time they could detect signs of life. A woman's voice was chanting. Vicki went down first, then Mike. David drew a deep breath to steel himself and followed. Stone stairs took them to an average-looking cellar full of dusty jars whose contents defied description. As she followed the voice, Vicki saw another set of stairs. These were rough, cobbled as opposed to the smooth polish in the rest of the structure, and they led to a heavy door with lights flickering underneath. Unnatural lights of red and white.

Vicki glanced at Mike, who gave her a nod. She grabbed the door handle, twisted, and shoved.

The three exploded into the room.

"Freeze!"

"Don't move!"

They all registered the flashing cloud that hung in the air, but had no time to wonder.

Hilma, in the far corner, screamed in fury at the intruders. This was her house. Her house! She flung her arm forward like pitching a fastball. A chunk of rock flew through the air and cracked into the wall near Vicki's head. She made for a second throw, but Mike's gun rang out before she could release. Hilma 's shoulder exploded in blood, and she fell shrieking.

Elsa stopped at the sound of the shot, and her glowing tattoo started to fade. She snagged the ceremonial knife from the table and lunged at whoever was closest, still too engulfed in magic to think. Vicki beat the knife from her hand and then whipped her in the stomach with the asp. The woman doubled over, but quickly rose. She would break every bone in the intruder's body if she could just get a hand on . . . Vicki anticipated the lunge and brought her weapon down hard on Elsa's head, knocking her unconscious in an expert blow. Mike pushed his way over to the one he'd shot. "You're both under arrest," he declared.

As Mike and Vicki began to shout over arrests, procedure, and charges, David let the nightstick fall to the floor with a clatter. He rushed through the dissipating cloud to the wall where Henry hung limp in his bonds. He ran his hands above Henry's arms, unsure of where to start first. He yanked out the IV. Blood still dripped slowly from Henry's wrists. He needed . . . he needed . . . David's mind locked on "tourniquet" and he snatched the zip ties from his pocket. He looped a tie around Henry's wrist just above the cut and pulled it as tight as he could. His fingers shook as he fastened the second one. His heart beat out of his chest as he started on the leather straps and his blood slicked hands kept slipping. He wheezed in panic and felt tears rise. He freed the final restraint on Henry's throat and caught him as he fell heavily forward.

"Henry . . . Henry!" David shouted and struggled to get a good view of his lover's face. He needed blood. For that, he needed fangs.

Without a pause to think, David bit down on his own lip with a short cry until he tasted coppery blood. He held Henry's body with one arm and moved his head with the other. David kissed him urgently, trying to get just the taste of blood to transfer. He felt the shift, though Henry seemed no more capable of moving.

"You have to eat," he whimpered, cradling the vampire against his neck. "Come on . . ."

". . . weak . . ." Henry managed to breathe.

"No you're not!" David hugged him fiercely.

There were few choices. If Henry couldn't bite, he'd do it for him. David shifted them both around until he felt sharp fangs right where they should be. He took a quick breath and pressed the fangs into his flesh. The vampire convulsed and finished the bite on his own. It was messy. Blood ran down David's back and chest, turning his shirt hideously red. Henry missed as much as he drank.

***

Vicki returned from locking the girls away in Mike's car to see David lurch and catch himself on the wall. He was covered in his own blood and shaking.

"Henry, let him go!" She dashed over and grabbed him by the hair. When she yanked Henry back, she saw his glassy black eyes for a moment, when he looked like a horror from legend, before he passed out from the exertion. She set him down on the stone shelf, also wet and sticky with blood, and spun David so she could see. His breathing was ragged.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine." He tried stand up straight, but started to fall.

Vicki caught him around the waist. She needed to get him somewhere with some clean towels to stop the bleeding. Mike came down as they started up, and David stopped, gasping. He looked at the detective with sorrow and desperation.

"I can't carry him," he wheezed.

Mike grimaced, but there was pleading in the other man's eyes.

"I got it."

Vicki returned to Henry's apartment to find the boys where she'd left them. David was bandaged, looking pale and distant, sitting at the dining room table. Mike sat opposite him, where he could keep an eye on both the suicidal maniac and the vampire. Henry hadn't stirred since he'd been deposited in bed.

Vicki set down both bags she was carrying, one containing fresh fruit and the other containing Thai food. As she dug out the oranges for David, Mike raided the kitchen for plates. After watching David struggle to peel the fruit, Vicki took them from him and did it herself.

"Thanks, mom," he said softly.

He'd refused to go to the hospital, despite the others' pleas.

As Mike started divvying up the food, there was a heavy thud.

"David?" came a weak voice.

"Jesus . . ." Vicki breathed.

Henry hung in the bedroom doorway, shaking and gripping the wall. With effort he lifted his head to look around, blue eyes searching. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," David responded heavily, eyes filled with care. "I'll be fine."

Vicki pressed a hand on the man's shoulder and trotted over to Henry, slipping herself under his arm. The vampire's blurry vision made out one more person in his home. A bolt of pride shot through him as he glared at the detective. He stood a little straighter and pushed Vicki away. She put her hands on her hips and watched him stumble a few steps toward the bed before half falling across it. She stepped inside.

"That was unnecessary."

Henry looked back at her over his shoulder.

"Just who do you think carried you up here?" she asked archly.

For a breath he didn't react, but then lowered his head.

"So give Mike a little credit, would you?"

Vicki came up behind him and lifted him into bed. Henry said nothing, just watched her go.

"Get some sleep."

Beyond the door, Henry could hear what sounded like family, people talking, eating, laughing. Their hearts beat, and at peace, he rested.

***

Coda

Vicki kicked back in her office chair, propping her feet up as Henry strode in looking healthy and beautiful. His blue shirt complemented his eyes.

"I want to thank you," he said, half-sitting on the far corner of her desk. "You came to save me."

Vicki grinned. "I wasn't the only one."

"No," he smiled. "But thank you anyway."

She nodded and watched him play with one of his rings, lettings thoughts of his hands run wild.

"Is there . . . anything you want to ask?" he said finally, looking her tenderly in the eye.

She grinned a little. "No. No, there's nothing I need to know."

Henry slid around the desk in a single fluid motion, pressing up against her legs. "Do you know the feeling," he said at a whisper, "of lying next to someone bigger than you. And you could just wrap yourself up in them. Safe . . . warm."

"Yes, I do," she whispered back, wistful and honest.

"Sometimes, I love that feeling." He said it like a confession.

With deliberate slowness, he reached out and took her hand. He watched her face, her lips, her eyes, as he brought her hand up and alighted a kiss on the back of it. He felt her shiver and gazed. When he spoke, it was barely audible, his lips still grazing the soft skin of her hand. "You don't ever have to call first."

She swallowed, and after a second butterfly kiss, he let her draw her hand away. She instinctively cradled it close.

"Thanks."

Henry bowed slightly, mischievously, and showed himself out. He opened the door to the office just as Mike was reaching for the handle. They stood in the doorway glaring. Eventually, Henry relented. He lowered his eyes and stepped back.

As Mike passed, Henry said, "Thank you. For saving me, Detective."

Celluci stopped and partially turned, annoyed at being reminded. "You're welcome. I guess." As Henry left, he called after him. "This doesn't mean we have to be friends, does it?"

No reply.

"Good."


End file.
